


Like Cotton (I Don't Mind When It's You)

by n00dl3Gal



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future Fish, Established Relationship, Fluff, Haru the artist, M/M, Super late tho, Tokyo (City), Tumblr: makoharufestival, chef!haru, fireman!makoto, sorta - Freeform, the boyfriend shirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 18:31:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4070212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n00dl3Gal/pseuds/n00dl3Gal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the art of girlwiththewhiterabbit. As both Makoto and Haru embrace their lives in Tokyo, they grow closer- and Makoto grows stronger, much to Haru's dismay. MakoHaru.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Cotton (I Don't Mind When It's You)

**Author's Note:**

> OK, so I finished this back in March. I had meant to publish this during the MakoHaru festival, but I didn't finish it in time. Oops. Special thanks to shinx for looking this over and general encouragement and girlwiththewhiterabbit for the inspirational art.

I can't say when Haru and I began dating. It just sort of happened.

That's not entirely true. I think, for Haru at least, it happened after Australia. Something about how he told me he was going to Tokyo with me… I could tell there was something deeper in his words, something I couldn't name. I pulled him out of the bath a few days later, he didn't let go of my hand.

Later that summer, I would kiss him for the first time. That summer, he wouldn't pull away. The inseparable bond we had became gravity to us- we couldn't tear ourselves away, even if we dared try. But why try to escape something that made everything just that much more satisfying? You don't. So we didn't.

That was four years ago.

Now I've just graduated. I'm living with my boyfriend in a somewhat cramped apartment with a broken kitchen sink faucet. And it's the happiest I've ever been in my life.

I think Haru's happy, as well. Not that ever says it out loud, but he smiles more and actually made a few friends in his classes. He still swims, of course, he'll likely never stop, but it's not competitively. He turned down all the scouts, saying that he "only swims free."

Instead, he enrolled in the culinary school at my old university. The professors loved him, say he was a master chef in the making. Now he works as an assistant sous chef at a restaurant a few blocks away. The pay is barely enough to cover our expenses (hence the apartment) but it's something and it's steady. If nothing else, Haru's finally cooking with something other than mackerel on a regular basis. (Although his favorite dish is served every Friday without fail- he wouldn't abandon it that easily).

As for me, I started out studying for a degree in education and coaching. Then, about a month in, a fellow student mentioned that I looked like a firefighter. That comment gave me thought. I wanted to help people, make them feel safe, and while coaching would let me do that, I knew I could do more.

So, on a whim, I signed up to be a volunteer firefighter. It was stressful, scary, exhausting, but so rewarding. Even Haru picked up on how content I was with my life.

It wasn't long before the chief asked if I was interested in a more permanent position on the force. "You have skills, Tachibana. Brains, muscles, and a good heart. Ideal fireman." I'd have to go through training and more education, of course. But the appeal of doing something that made me so happy full-time was hard to turn away from.

I changed my major to fire science the next morning.

As I reminisce, I open the creaking door to our apartment. Haru is sitting on the couch, absentmindedly watching a commercial on television. I take my shoes off in the hallway. "I'm home," I call out needlessly.

"No one else has a key to our apartment, Makoto," Haru replies, not bothering to look at me.

I shake my head. "It was unlocked, Haru. You keep that up and someone might come in here and steal our stuff."

He shrugs. "I lock it when I leave." He stands up and walks to the kitchenette where he pulls a pan out of the oven. "Shallots and vegetables, rice is almost done," he explains.

I smile. "It smells delicious, Haru-chan." I busy myself with getting out plates and chopsticks.

"Drop the -chan," he grunts, adding some seasonings to our dinner. "We're in our twenties." He pauses for a moment, then continues: "Besides, calling a sous chef '-chan' is just disrespectful."

"You've put up with me calling you that for this long," I laugh, "so no, I won't sto-" His words finally hit me. "What did you say?" I twist my neck to look at him.

Haru gives a sidelong glance to the rice cooker, probably wishing he could crawl in with the grains and blame his blush on being steamed. "Ignaki-san retired last week, and they needed someone to take his position." He scratches his cheek. "They chose me."

"Haru! That's amazing! Congratulations!" I grin at him and scoop him into a bear hug. "My Haru got promoted!"

"Hey hey be careful! Not in the ki-" His words die on his lips, eyes widening in surprise, when he notices what I'm doing. I'm caught off guard as well.

Somehow, I'm not sure how, I've managed to lift him into the air, holding him by his waist, his head scraping the ceiling. It reminds me of what I used to do with Ren and Ran, hoisting them up, but that was when they were little. Haru's a full-grown, rather muscular adult, and I'm picking him up as though he's no more than a slightly heavy grocery bag.

"How the hell are you doing this…" he croaks, voice cloaked in disbelief. "I knew you were stronger and taller than me but this is ridiculous…"

"My training!" I gasp in realization. "All my strength and endurance training for becoming a firefighter- that's how!"

Haru nods, satisfied, but still looks uncomfortable. He's really cute when he's flustered like this, cheeks red and eyes searching for a place rest that's not on me. I peck his lips. "I'm proud of you."

There's the tiniest of grins when he tells me to put him down, edges of his lips just barely turned up. And I really want to see that sort of embarrassed Haru again.

. . .

I try again a few days later. Haru's standing in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, looking at the drain. I sneak behind him, keeping my footsteps quiet. I do my best to keep out of the mirror. In just a few steps, I wrap my arms around his bare waist and lift him up.

"MAKOTO! WHAT THE FUCK!" he screeches, legs flailing and hitting my shins.

I chuckle. "Haru-chan is so cute," I whisper in his ear.

"I have to be at work in twenty minutes Makoto I swear if you don't let me down I will move out and start living with Nagisa and Rei and I will break up with you-" All of this comes out in one long breath from Haru's mouth. Sighing, I set him on the floor.

He faces me, eyes on fire. "Why?" Only one word, but the full meaning is clear: why did you pick me up?

I rub the back of my neck. "I… I'm sorry, Haru. I liked seeing you all flustered. Please forgive me." I bow deeply, hoping to appease him.

Waves of ocean blue roll behind his eyelids, but eventually he exhales. "Well, it's you Makoto… so fine. But don't do it again," he adds sternly.

I nod and begin to walk back to the kitchen to finish breakfast shyly. I think I catch the words "unless you have a reason" floating from his mouth.

. . .

It doesn't take long for me to find a reason. It's our night off, both of us- a rare occasion.

And, of course, Haru's in the bath.

I look up from my novel. He's been in for a while. With a groan, I head towards the bathroom.

"Haru? I'm coming in!" I call, pushing the wood barrier out of the way. "Haru-chan! You've become a raisin!"

He glances over his wrinkly body with nonchalance. "Fell asleep."

I stick out my hand. "Get up." Both our eyes roll but his palm grabs mine. The familiar jolt of electric love shoots up my arm.

He's naked, and I blush, but it's nothing I haven't seen before. Many, many times. I flush even redder as the memories flood of those past experiences. "Oi, Makoto." I force my eyes up. "Stop staring at my dick and fantasizing about sex so I can get dressed."

"Ah! Sorry, Haru!" I vault from the bathroom, leaving the raven-haired man behind to clothe himself.

Ten minutes later he looms over me, hair still dripping. His warm finger prodes my forehead, leaving behind a flick of moisture. "Move over. I want to…" I can't tell if his blush is from overheating or embarrassment.

"Use your words," I chide him, not switching my attention from the plot unfolding in my hands.

"I wanna cuddle," he breathes, and that's more than enough.

I lay my book to the side and start to remove my glasses- but then I notice his shirt. "You still have that old thing?"

Haru pulls the yellow-and-orange fabric from his stomach, letting it flop back after observing it. "It fits. And it's comfy. So yeah." A red dusting coats his nose and cheeks.

I sit up and grab his waist. "My boyfriend still has my old t-shirt… That's so sweet and adorable, Haru-chan!" I lift him up, balancing him on my shoulder.

He lightly swats my head. "Put me down, Makoto. I'm hitting the ceiling." Laughing, I shake my head adamantly. "Seriously Makoto this hurts…"

"Alright," I reply, gently placing him on the bed. "But if I can't parade you to the world for being cute, well, I might just take you up on that cuddle thing."

Pink from chin to hairline, Haru exhales deeply. "Come here, you dork…" His arms latch around my neck and pull me down towards his lips. "Remind me why I'm glad we're both off today."

I am more than pleased to comply.

. . .

Granted, as wonderful as having a day off with Haru can be, we both need to work. And much to my surprise, Haru actually gets along with his co-workers. They've been a good influence on him.

At least, most of the time.

I know something's up the moment my cell phone rings and it displays the caller ID as Haru. I pick it up before the first ring even finishes. "Haru-chan? Are you ok?"

"Eh, Makoto? It's Junpei, you know, I'm a cook at Sakura Plate alongside Haru…" The voice on the line is vaguely familiar, and the outline of a face jumps into my mind's eye.

"Junpei? Is Haru alright?" I nearly yell, heart drumming like a rock song.

"Yeah, yeah, he's fine- sort of," Junpei answers. I hear club music in the background. "See, we managed to convince Haru to join us for a few drinks after work and well-"

I shudder with relief. "He had roughly two beers and he's about to pass out, isn't he."

"Yeah, yeah he is," Junpei laughs. "Guess this isn't the first time this has happened?"

"Not at all," I tell him. "Anyway, what's the name of the bar?"

It's a quick walk over, so I grab my jacket and I arrive at the neon-light watering hole in fifteen minutes. Junpei is waiting outside and Haru is draped over his shoulder. "Makoto…?" he slurs.

"Thanks for coming over, man," Junpei says graciously. "He can barely walk." As if to prove his point, Haru lurches towards me and nearly falls on his face. "Want me to call a taxi?"

I shake my head. "It's fine. Come on up, Haru-chan." I hoist him onto my back and he grasps my shoulders and buries his face in my already disheveled hair. I heat up at the affection, but I know it's the alcohol.

Junpei whistles, impressed. "That fireman training is paying off big time, eh? Anyway, tell him to sleep him off, he doesn't have to clock in till 3."

I nod and we exchange goodbyes. He walks back into the bar and I begin the trek home. Haru begins to stir on my back after a few minutes. "Mako-chan…"

I know he's only calling me that due being inebriated, but the nickname sends my heart skyward. "Yes, Haru-chan?"

"Am I drunk?"

I can't help but giggle. "Very much so, I'm afraid to report."

"R-remember…" he hiccups, "the-the first time we go-got drunk? Together? In c-college?"

"Of course I do, Haru. I still have the proof on my arm."

_"Hey-hey, Makoto, you k-know what's hot?" Haru's giggling like a schoolgirl confessing to her crush._

_"Um, uhm… me?" I laugh and Haru kisses my neck._

_"Yeah, but I meant tattoos- you should get a tattoo-too!" He slaps my shoulder, indicating the position of where said ink should go._

_I frown and nearly cry. "B-buth Haru-chan…" He kisses my neck more and my resolve weakens, as it always does with him. "Alrighfth, I'll dho it! Buth Haru-chan hash to ghet one too!"_

_"I-I ain't getting a tattooo…" he protests. Haru takes another sip of his beer then nods. "I'll get a piercing-g for Makototo if h-he gets a tattoo!" I mull this over. I'm not thrilled with the idea of something marring Haru's perfect body, but a simple earring or the like would actually look quite attractive…_

_I slam my bottle to the table, the contents splashing onto the wood. "Lhet's do hit!"_

The next morning, most of our savings were gone, I had a dolphin etched onto my left shoulder and, hidden in the shell of Haru's ear, a small green piercing was housed.

"D-do you regret it, Ma-mako-chan?" he questions softly, bringing me back to the present.

I look first up at the skyline, stars twinkling against the buildings, and remember the dull pain of having the image etched into my flesh- and the amazement in Haru's sober eyes the next day. Lastly, I gaze to the man clutching to the back of my shirt. "No, Haruka. I could never regret it. I did it with you, and that's all that matters."

He hums in contentment. "Love y-you, Mako-ch-chan…"

I kiss the hands of the man I adore beneath my chin, these hands that create such delicious food and magnificent reactions in bed. "I love you too, Haru."

. . .

It's not just Haru I love. I also love how I'm able to save those in danger and help them in their times of need. But sometimes, as much as I try, I can't save them. Not always.

Haru groans, but continues to rub my back in small circles. "It was a cat, Makoto."

I sniff. "Y-yes, I know, b-but…"

"It was a really old cat that they were going to have to put down soon anyways due to cancer," he elaborates. "Seriously. You need to pull yourself together."

"I-I let so-something die, Haru-chan. That cat d-died because I c-couldn't rescue it." I bury my face in my hands, tears pooling in my palms.

His arm reached around my neck to pat my shoulder. "If this is what happens when you can't save a pet from a fire, I hate to see what'll happen when you lose a person."

I gasp and quiver in terror. "A-a person! Oh my God you're r-right- I could be responsible for a person's DEATH!" I grab him and look him squarely in the eyes. "I'd be a-a murderer!"

Haru's eyes lower beneath his lashes and he exhales. "I do this because you're my boyfriend, Makoto." Then he slaps me across the face. "Get a grip. I'm going to cook dinner." He untangles himself from my grasp and exits as I rub my cheek in pain.

"You could've at least done it front-hand…" I murmur.

I lay on the couch and cry for a while longer, regret settling in my stomach. After what feels like years- more likely was only half an hour- a familiar and heavenly smell reaches my nose. I raise myself from my sorrows and stumble into the kitchen. Haru is mixing a pot on the stove, a pot full of-

"Green curry?" I sniff. "Y-you're making green curry? But it's Friday- mackerel night."

He places the wooden spoon down and faces me, eyes obscured by his bangs like usual. "I don't like seeing you sad," he explains, directing his attention at the floor. "I'll make an exception just this once."

I continue to cry, much to Haru's confusion. I can sense his questions and I answer before he can even ask: "they're happy tears, Haru. Thank you so much…" I yank him into a ferocious hug that, even though I try not to use my strength, ends up lifting him into the air. "Oh Haru-chan!" I give a watery laugh.

Awkwardly, he pats the top of my head, fingers curling in my hair. "Yeah, yeah… Put me down. I don't want it to burn." I happily obey and press my lips to his. He tastes like curry and chlorine, and I don't want to pull away, even when the smell of smoke attacks my senses for the second time that day.

(He doesn't burn it, anyway, it was just a bit dark. He does scold me, though. Not that I mind too much.)

. . .

Aside from these tiny disagreements, Haru and I rarely ever fight. I really think the only time we ever truly fought up to this point was when I told him I was going to Tokyo, and that was quickly resolved.

He does get angry, however. Sometimes his anger can be… enjoyable, but when he doesn't speak at all, when he doesn't return my gaze, when he is actually, truly pissed, it's terrible. So I try not to do anything that might make him upset, like any good boyfriend would. Sometimes, though, sometimes I'm not careful enough.

Haru's still at work, that's not the problem, it's the sketchbook he left lying on the couch. I scootch away from the pad of paper, worried about what might be drawn upon them. But I'm curious. Really curious- but it's not my place to look. It's always been an unstated rule- the sketchbook is Haru's, and Haru's only.

But we've been dating for years, we've been together since childhood, and I know everything about him- except what he draws. It's not my place.

And yet I find myself reaching across the couch and flipping to the first page. It's a sketch of the pool back in Iwatobi, still covered in weeds and dirt. Before we started the club, then. I smile and turn the page.

The next few pages are filled with familiar faces- mainly mine and Rin, with a few of Nagisa and Rei, even a couple of Kou. An image of Iwatobi-chan, a few more of a me, some beach scenes, me asleep, me in uniform, some dishes served at the restaurant, me naked, me asleep- I'm halfway through before I sense the pattern. Me.

The sketchbook is almost entirely me.

"Haru…" I mouth. I had no idea he cares this much. Well, no, I know he loves me, he's my boyfriend and my best friend and he's everything to me, but he says it so rarely that it's always a surprise. He's never been good at showing his emotions. But this… this is beyond what I could ever dream.

I'm so engrossed in these mirror images- maybe I'm a bit vain, maybe I'm just admiring the artistry in each line of my muscles and hair- that I barely hear the hitch of breath behind me. I glance behind my shoulder and jump in shock, tossing the book across the room. "H-Haru!"

He regards me silently, eyes unreadable beneath his bangs. With deliberate steps, he walks over to the sketchbook and picks it up. He faces me again, still quiet.

"Haru, I'm sorry… it was there and I… I couldn't help myself…" I mumble.

He makes no sound, yet each footstep is deafening. And all my wishes that he isn't truly mad die as soon as the lock to the bedroom door clicks echoes throughout the apartment.

I've upset him enough to make even a bath unappealing.

When he does emerge, Haru ignores me completely and instead focuses entirely on grilling the mackerel for dinner. I repeat apologies over and over onto deaf ears. The same fear I had when he left for Australia builds in my gut. This is the last time I'm going to see him, isn't it?

He doesn't announce he's done cooking, just hands me an empty plate and kneels in front of the table, lazily pushing his vegetables around. I place myself across from him, and neither of us seem to have any appetite.

And then, suddenly, after what must've been a good twenty minutes, movement. Haru's lips opening and closing, as though words are trying to escape but he's gone mute. I look away from him, hoping the lack of pressure might loosen his tongue. "I'm… I'm not… angry, Makoto."

My eyes flick in his direction, observing how he worries his lip between his teeth. "I'm not angry," he repeats. "I am… upset, though. Not because you looked at the book, but because you didn't ask."

I move to sit in front of him, crossing my legs as I take his sweaty palm. "Not even that, really, I understand your… curiosity," he adds. I rub my thumb around his knuckles. "I left it out where you could see it and… But I am upset. Because…" His eyelids fall shut. "Because I didn't want you finding out that way."

I try my hardest to understand the underlying meaning, but without a window to his thoughts, I'm helpless. Eventually the blue irises resurface. "I didn't want you finding out like that. I wanted it to be from me."

The true message becomes clear and I breath in sharply. "Haru-chan… I…" Words desert me, so I instead squeeze my hands beneath his knees and raise my arms upwards. He's perched on my forearms, hands grasping my shoulders for support, when I begin to stand up. A sharp pinch on my right pauses my ascent.

"Put me down," he says. "I… I need to say this. Myself. I need to actually say this, Makoto." Moisture dots his cheeks, and as hard as I try, the unspoken _if you put me down and let me speak, you can pick me up and do this later_ is painfully clear. I grudgingly follow his instructions. Once he's back on the floor, Haru takes my hands into his once more and speaks to them, rather than my face.

"Makoto, you know that I have trouble with words. They don't always… work for me. And you know I have trouble with my feelings. I don't express them, or at least not like most people. But… you can read me, regardless, and that's something that I lo- like- no…" He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing. "It's something I love about you." I gasp but he places a finger on my lips, bidding me to be silent.

"I don't say that a lot, I know, but it's true. I do. A lot. But I have trouble saying it so instead I draw it. I draw all my feelings. And I wanted you to know that I cared that much from my own self, not some stupid sketchbook." His eyes meet mine and the compassion and devotion are enough to drown in. "I love you, Makoto."

I can't stand it anymore. I grab the back of Haru's head and force my lips to his, slamming him against the floor. He moans and yanks at a fistful of my shirt, fingers itching to touch my skin. I eagerly let him. "I love you, Haru…"

I've always known it, but it's still nice to hear.


End file.
